


The Wilderness You Find In Me

by sternel



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Bisexual Chris Pike, M/M, Multi, Poly Relationship, Shore Leave, kasseelian opera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28513578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternel/pseuds/sternel
Summary: Five shore leaves Chris Pike shared with Hugh Culber and Paul Stamets:  a fun little romp through Pike's youth and a devoted friendship-with-benefits.
Relationships: Hugh Culber/Christopher Pike/Paul Stamets, Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9
Collections: Holly Poly 2020





	The Wilderness You Find In Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RainbowLily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowLily/gifts).



> Written for the 2020 Holly Poly fic exchange.
> 
> Title from Vienna Teng's song "Flyweight Love."
> 
> Thanks to Muzikanka for letting me yell all my thoughts and ideas about Chris Pike, Disaster Bisexual, to her at all hours. I promise I will write the rest of this triad's epic tale at some point.

The bar Boyce had messaged him to recommended was a beautiful one, all local stone and intricate metalwork in a style that reminded Pike of the oldest surviving buildings from his home town. He had found a nearby hotel and gotten a room with a very large bathtub, ready to spend some time soaking away the last of the aches and bruises from those last few missions, but first he wanted to spend his first night dirtside getting very, very drunk.

The bar was noisy with conversation, and he had to navigate through the crowds to reach the bar, taking the only available stool. There was a group on one side, several people on stools and a crowd around and with them, laughing at something. He smiled at the cheer, and turned to the other side. A couple was seated in the next two stools, very into each other and probably only a few minutes away from making out. Not really the mood he was looking for, but he decided to stay and get a drink before he started wandering for company. 

He took a few minutes to chat with the bartender, and found himself staring down a double-sized shot glass with a cherry floating in the middle of what smelled like tequila and looked vaguely like an oil slick. It was also on fire.

“Hugh. They have Coronal Mass Ejections here? We need to try this, look at that, it’s flaming.”

“That’s not the only thing flaming, Paul, leave the man alone,” Paul’s boyfriend said, laughing.

Chris turned his head to the couple on his right. “So you’ve had one of these before?”

Paul, who was so blond he was almost transparent, scoffed. “You have no idea what you’re in for.”

“The bartender recommended it. I like to try new things.” Chris considered the man, lifted the glass, and tossed the shot back, flames and all, chomping the cherry in half. It burned, and then - “Holy shit.”

Paul smirked, and waved the bartender down. “Round of CMEs for everyone, please,” he called, waving his hand at the three of them. 

“I hope you’re ready for the hangover you’re about to have,” Paul’s boyfriend said to Chris, with a touch of oft-tried patience in his tone. 

“Probably not, but I’m going to enjoy getting there,” Chris said, and extended his hand. 

“You better believe it, Starfleet,” Paul said, and leaned in as the boyfriend fished his uneaten cherry from his glass and held it out for Paul to eat. Chris shifted in his chair and raised an eyebrow, trying not to admit how tempting a display that was. 

“It’s the boots,” the boyfriend said, and stuck out one foot to display his own Fleet issue. 

“Ah,” Chris said, picking up the beer the bartender placed in front of him. “Well, here’s to the Fleet.” He lifted his glass to them in mock salute and took a sip. It was an excellent brew. 

“Here’s to a full week of leave,” Paul said. 

“Hear hear,” said the boyfriend, as he took his own beer. “This is Paul. I’m Hugh.” He held out his hand to Chris, and squeezed it warmly. 

Chris smiled at them both. “Nice to meet you both. I’m Chris.”

\-- -- --

Chris was well-fucked, well-rested, and very, very hungover. He found himself blinking groggily into the sunlight, a little confused about where he was and considered the possibility that he was still drunk. 

“OK, that’s not good. Computer, lower lights.”

There was no answering beep, and Chris frowned, turning his head -- definitely a mistake -- and looked for who was talking. “Shhhhhh?”

“What did we drink?” Hugh pushed himself out of the bed, and despite his bleariness Chris was definitely able to appreciate the display Hugh made as he crossed the room -- and tripped. “Paul? Why are you on the floor?” 

“Sleeping,” Paul muttered, and Chris couldn’t keep from giggling. “Shhhhh.” 

“You are all ridiculous and I hate you all.” Hugh sighed. “Chris, if I give you a hypo can you help me get this useless lump into bed so I don’t have to listen to him complain about his neck bothering him?”

“Can I go back to sleep after?” Chris asked. He tried to sit up and immediately regretted that choice. 

“No puking,” Hugh said sharply, holding a hand out to him. “Stay - right - there. Don’t move.” He brought his medkit to the bed, and injected himself before holding the hypospray out to Chris. “Would you prefer to do your own?”

“No,” Chris muttered. “I trust you. Go ahead.” He tilted his head to the side, and Hugh ran a gentle hand along his neck before pressing the hypo to him. It kicked in immediately, but Chris didn’t move. Hugh’s fingers felt good, and he didn’t want him to stop. 

Hugh tapped his neck gently after a moment. “Come help me bring Paul back to bed and I’ll let you be little spoon.”

“Sounds nice,” Chris said, and kicked the covers back, climbing out of the bed. Paul was wrapped up in a blanket like a burrito, sprawled across the floor at the foot of the bed. Chris bent over, scooped him up, and brought him around to the side, laying him gently down and tucking a pillow under his head. Hugh came behind him and pressed the hypo to his arm. Paul didn’t wake up, and Hugh tossed the hypo onto the nightstand, climbing over Paul to the far side of the bed, and patted the middle. 

“Come on, flyboy,” he said, with his bright smile. “We need someone to keep us warm.”

Chris snorted and climbed over Paul carefully, tucking himself between them both. “You could have carried Paul to bed just fine yourself,” he mumbled as he pulled the blankets up.

“I know. I just wanted to watch you do it,” Hugh said, wrapping his arms around Chris and spooning against him. “You’re very easy on the eyes.”

“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say before three days of debauched sex?” Chris folded his arms over Hugh’s, enjoying the firmness of his embrace. Hugh was not letting go until he was damn good and ready. 

“You should say it all the time,” Hugh said, and cracked a yawn. “We have hours before that mountain hiking tour. I say sleep first, then sex, then breakfast, then we go see if the waivers we had to sign were justified.’

“I love this plan.” He didn’t say and I love you but he suddenly, sharply, understood how easily he could. It scared him, and he froze. 

“You don’t have to go if you change your mind,” Hugh murmured, and he pulled one arm away, leaving Chris with a moment of panic that - and then Hugh started running his hand along Chris’ arm, the same gentle movement he’d used to touch Chris’ neck just moments ago. 

Sighing, Chris leaned into Hugh’s embrace. “No, I want to. Don’t stop, that feels good.” He let his eyes close.

“I won’t,” Hugh murmured, and he felt Hugh’s lips press against his shoulder as he drifted back to sleep.

\-- -- --

Chris eyed the man leaning on the bar next to him in the elegantly appointed opera house, quietly admiring how perfectly fitted his suit was, and how well it showed off his form. “So is now a good time to admit I have no idea what to expect from this performance?”

Hugh raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought you said you were excited to hear this?”

“I did,” Chris says slowly. “And I am. I enjoy new experiences. I’ve heard a few recordings. But I’ve never attended any opera performance ever, so I’d appreciate if you make sure I don’t make any egregious faux pas.” 

Hugh looked at his glass of champagne, turned back to the bartender, and raised two fingers, pushing his credit chip back across the counter. “Drink up.” He waited until Chris had drained his glass and picked up the second one. “The reason that Kasseelian opera is so renowned is that each diva performs only once in her lifetime.”

“And then she retires?” Chris smiled at that. “Not a bad deal.”

“Then she dies,” Hugh said quietly, and Chris put his cup down. “She has trained her entire life for tonight’s performance. There are no recordings made of it. Only those of us here in the opera house will experience it. She has been rehearsing in secret, with only her maestro and her tutor, for her final aria. For years now, while her voice has matured, this has been her life’s work. She will achieve it tonight, and it is performed as a gift to her people’s gods, to thank them for giving her strength and ability to give voice to their music. And then she will slit her throat on stage to ensure that her gift to them is the last utterance she will ever make.” He swallowed roughly, and looked away from the frozen expression of shock on Chris’ face. “I’m sorry. When you said you’d like to join me when Paul had to cancel, I assumed you knew what would be happening.”

“I’m just - surprised,” Chris admitted. “I didn’t expect to be seeing - well.”

“It’s very tastefully done,” Hugh says. “For what it’s worth.”

“For dying,” Chris said, and picked up his champagne. “Might need another one or two of these before we begin.” 

“No intermission,” Hugh said. “It’s three hours long. No potty breaks.”

“I’ve sat through longer meetings with the Admiralty,” Chris says, but after he drains his glass he doesn’t take another. “How many of these have you seen?”

“This will be my third performance,” Hugh said, voice quiet. “Every performance is unique and beautiful. It’s humbling to witness such art being embodied so fiercely.” 

Chris nodded. “All right. Anything else I should know?”

Hugh tilted his head, considering him, and Chris considered him right back. “It’s a music performance, but it’s also a religious event. So if people start getting emotional, just respect it.”

“If you start getting emotional, how would you like me to be respectful?” Chris asked, picking up the hint.

“Just be there,” Hugh said, and then a soft chime echoed through the cavernous lobby. “That’s time to go in. Shall we?” He finished his own champagne quickly, placed the glass on the bar, and held out his hand. Chris smiled, and took it, letting Hugh lead him through the crowd.

He sat, stunned, in his chair when the curtain fell for the final time, still processing the overwhelming physical effect of the final chord. It had rung out like a bell, the full orchestra and company creating a wall of sound unlike anything he had ever heard, with the beautiful clear crystalline tones of the diva’s song rising in lush arpeggios over them, until she soared to a final full note that lasted longer than he had ever heard. She had turned her head to regard the viewers, taking them all in with an expression on her face that Chris might have called triumph. Too soon, long before he was ready but still longer than any human could have ever done so, she released her song with the highest note he had ever heard anyone sing, a note that echoed throughout the hall in the sudden stillness as the company fell silent. For a long moment, only that precious note could be heard, a heart-stoppingly perfect ringing that slowly faded into the silence as the company bowed their heads. A moment too late, Chris realized that the audience, too, was bowing their heads, and he hurriedly lowered his, but not before he saw the look of satisfaction on her face as she drew a shining knife across her throat, falling into the waiting arms of the singer next to her as the lights dimmed.

There was no thunderous applause, not like Chris might have expected on another world. Just the silence and the memory of that moment of swirling perfect sound, and next to him Hugh’s head was bowed forward, and even in the dim light Chris had no difficulty seeing the tearstains streaking his cheeks. He reached over, resting his hand over Hugh’s, and Hugh turned his hand to grasp tightly at Chris. They sat, stunned and still with the rest of the audience, and Chris discovered he was holding Hugh’s hand just as tightly.

\-- -- -- 

“Do you even know how to do this?” Paul said, standing with the respirator in his hand.

“Your arrogance is charming sometimes, sweetheart, but this is not one of those times,” Hugh said, taking the respirator out of his hand and popping it into Paul’s mouth. “We all certified at the Academy. Get in the water.” 

Paul turned to look at Chris, who was still bent over so he could rinse his goggles in the sea water. He shook his head as he stood, pulling them over his face. “Don’t look at me, Paul. You’re the one running your mouth.” He laughed at Paul’s eyeroll, and pulled the goggles in place. “Are we ready?” Hugh nodded, pulling his own goggles down. Paul’s huff was audible even with the respirator, but he gave a thumbs up. “Good. Last one in is a rotten egg!” He took a running leap off the pier of the diving platform and let himself sink into the sea.

Neptune’s Folly had been so named by an overzealous trade boomer a century earlier who thought he might make a fortune harvesting the sea life of this aquatic planet for gourmet dining. The venture never got off the ground, and instead the tourism industry moved in. Above them, a spidering village of luxury sea cottages floated on the idyllic waves of Neptune’s Folly, hosting the endless streams of vacationers who came to swim on and in the waves. Chris let himself drift into the currents beneath the dive platform, into a magnificent coral reef resplendent with color. Ahead of him, the waters exploded into a riot that resolved into Paul, bubbles floating away as he oriented himself and looked around. Chris could see the moment he found the reef, reading his sudden stillness like a book. 

A third, more contained entry revealed Hugh, who calmly treaded water and waited for one of them to lead the way. Chris checked his dials, his dive clock, and his gear, and swam forward into Paul’s field of view. Paul gave him a thumbs up and kicked off, into the reef. 

One of the things Chris enjoyed about scuba diving was how much it resembled zero-g, and floating around the coral reef as it made its way down the edge of the ocean floor proved to be the relaxation he needed, even as he monitored the dive time and O2 levels. He was disappointed when his dive system pinged at him to start his ascent, and when they finally surfaced, he could see Paul’s disappointment. too. 

“There’s fungus in that reef!” he shouted over their incoming retrieval boat. “I need to go back down!”

“Paul,” Hugh said, floating onto his back. “We are on vacation. Va-ca-tion. That means we are not working.”

“This isn’t work, this is fun,” Paul insisted. “You two can go parasailing or whatever you wanted to do tomorrow.” He was still talking about it as they climbed up into the boat, dropping their tanks on the deck and removing their gear for return. “I can do an early morning dive.”

“I thought we had plans for the early morning?” Chris asked, deliberately keeping his tone mild. 

“I certainly did,” Hugh agreed, and Chris chuckled at his shit-eating grin. 

“You did not, I wrote up the entire schedule for this trip and there was nothing - oh. Very funny, guys.” Paul sniffed. “What kind of plans?”

Chris reached for Paul, getting in a good grab. “I’m sure we can fit something in before your dive.”

“You are not the slightest bit funny,” Paul complained, but when Chris started peeling his wet suit off, Paul got his own handful in return, and Hugh's laughter was the only thing that got them to stop.

\-- -- --

“I’m not entirely sure this is safe,” Paul said, making a face as he stood on the edge of the bluff. Beneath the hat and UV-resistant clothing and the UV block he was wearing on his face, he was wrinkling his nose so much that Chris was tempted to tell him how much he resembled a Tellarite, but he resisted. Paul’s ability to conduct an argument would put a Tellarite to shame and if he let Paul get started they would never get into the water.

“You never went diving off a cliff?" He asked instead, pulling off his hiking boots and shucking off his jeans to reveal his swimming trunks, slightly worse for the wear but comfortable as anything.

Hugh looked up from where he was doing the same thing, and Chis couldn’t help the wolf whistle. Hugh was wearing a form-fitting bikini bottom that hid nothing, and Chris let his gaze travel slowly north to Hugh’s face. Hugh was smiling as he shook his head and crossed his arms. “Oh no you don’t, Lieutenant Pike. That’s for later. First I want to see how good this swimming hole is.” With a yell, he ran for the edge of the bluff, plunging down into the water and came up with a screech. 

“Oh god. Hugh? Hugh!” Paul ran to the edge of the bluff, and Chris followed him a little more leisurely. 

“It’s fucking freezing!” Hugh yelled up, gasping for breath and laughing at the same time. “Get your ass down here, Pike.”

“You’re leaving me up here alone?” Paul said, turning the Tellarite glare onto him, and Chris threw back his head and laughed.

“No. I’m going to bring you with me!” He took three steps, tackled Paul, and carried them both over the bluff edge and held him even while Paul screamed in his ear until they hit the water with a great splash. It was fucking freezing, Hugh wasn’t kidding.

Paul came up spluttering, threatening to feed them both poisonous mushrooms in their dinners, and didn’t notice Hugh swimming up behind him until he wrapped his arms around Paul, kissing behind his ear. “You loved it. You’re a secret adrenaline junkie.”

“Shut up, get off me before I drown,” Paul grumbled, batting at his arms. “It’s cold and there’s probably some sort of marine creature in this lake who’s going to eat us for lunch.”

Chris swam over and wrapped his arms around Paul from the other side, sandwiching him between two warm bodies. “Oh, stop grumping. We won’t let you freeze. And I checked the lake. Biggest life forms are the size of Earth trout and they’re herbivores.” 

Paul lifted an eyebrow, and let himself float between them, a small smile starting to erase the creases of worry from his face. “Well, I suppose that’s not terrible…”

“I got a fishing license,” Chris murmured into his ear. “Fresh trout for dinner?”

“There’s things I want to do before dinner,” Hugh said, and Chris watched him lick a stripe up behind Paul’s ear. “Spitroasting sounds nice.”

“For the fish or for Paul?” Chris asked, idly treading water. 

“Sure,” Hugh agreed, and Paul moaned. 

“You’re both jerks. Not in the water.”

“It’s tempting,” Chris said, just to wind Paul up, and it worked, because Paul let out an angry growl and made a grab for his arm. Chris let him connect, flexing his arm a bit just to show off. 

“Fine, let’s go back up,” Hugh said, eyes on Chris’ bicep. “He’ll whine all night about indignities otherwise.” He kicked into a backfloat, pulling Paul with him, and started lazily paddling for the shoreline. 

“Path back up to the top of the hill on the north side of the cliff,” Chris called, and paddled after them.

They caught five of the local trout and then Paul found a patches of wild mushrooms and onions they made their way back to their rented cabin, so instead of replicated rations they dined on the bounty from the woods and water around them, fried up in a pan over a campfire. Paul disappeared after dinner, and came back with a packet of marshmallows. “Go find some sticks.”

“I got a stick right here,” Hugh teased, and Paul huffed, but his faux-aggravation was even less convincing.

“You’ve been a doctor for how many years and you expect me to believe you’d roast a marshmallow on your dick?” 

Chris cracked up, an absolute fit of the giggles, the sort that left him clutching his abdomen and gasping for breath, while Hugh and Paul both watched him fondly. “Oh. God. You two jerks. I’ll go find some sticks for roasting marshmallows. Hugh, keep it in your pants around the campfire. God.” 

“He’s a Boy Scout,” Paul said to Hugh, and Hugh made an agreeing noise.

“He’s our Boy Scout.”

Chris snorted, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he stepped into the shadows. He came back with three perfect marshmallow-roasting sticks, and he bartered them for deep kisses in the moonlight before handing them over. 

It was the best shore leave he’d ever had, he decided, as he held out a toasted gooey marshmallow for Paul to eat from his fingers. Hugh was smiling at them both, and he smiled back, wondering if contentment would always feel like the warmth of a campfire and tasted of burned marshmallow.


End file.
